


Texts from Last Night: The Baker Street Edition

by Red



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cell Phones, Comment Fic, Established Relationship, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Sexting, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written sometime after the first season for Spacefall, inspired by some of said Spacefall's <a href="http://spacefall.co.uk/lj/naarmamo2010/day11_sherlockjohn.jpg">lovely fanart</a>. John wakes up to an empty bed and an inbox full of messages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Texts from Last Night: The Baker Street Edition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spacefall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacefall/gifts).



It would figure Sherlock would get up at five in the morning and take off on what had to be less than four hour's worth of sleep. John got as far listening as "proper state of decay" and "rare breed of pig" before categorizing the lot as something Sherlock could well take care of himself thank you--very possibly even without being shot at--before rolling back over. 

Still, it'd be nice if Sherlock could sleep more than three hours in a stretch. Going on that little sleep couldn't be right, much as Sherlock seemed able to function on an hour a week. Maybe John would feel a little responsible for how late they'd got to sleep, but considering Sherlock was on his bloody phone texting away through a blowjob and a bit of rough sex and two orgasms, well. 

Clearly Sherlock had his priorities, and John supposed he was just lucky that "getting off" was at least _parallel_ with sending a bloody SMS. 

Speaking of, though. 

John sat up, blearily. While he wasn't about to take a cab to god-knows-where to do lord-knows-what to a decaying side of pork, keeping his mobile close for one of those "May need assistance -SH" texts would be prudent. Normal folks could get by looking at a dead pig without being held at gunpoint, but normal folks didn't often go about looking at dead pig. 

He knew he'd left it in his trouser pocket, it was just a matter of finding those. Luckily they were still on the stairs, and not in Mrs. Hudson's hands. 

Like last time, when he got the "It's so lovely to see you two getting on, people were starting to talk" speech. 

Back in the room, he pulled the phone out and went back to bed. 

_15 new messages_

Oh. Oh, hell. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he nearly panicked--he really wished that he couldn't think of a half-million things that might've happened to Sherlock in an hour--when he realized it could just as well be ten messages from Mycroft insisting a full report on the whole Sumatran rat thing. He opened the first message. 

_1/15: "Your considerable talent with oral sex makes me question your history with Percy. -SH"_

Right. Clearly from last night, then. 

And clearly another case of Sherlock having the mistaken belief that he'd suddenly figured out the art of giving a compliment. Deleting the message, John hoped the next message was something a bit better. Like Holmes asking him to water the severed fingers or pick up more javelins. 

_1/14: "It's simply that the thing you do when you hum and pull back suddenly is remarkable."_

John sighed and flopped back on the bed. 

So. Inbox full of middle-of-the-act text messages. Great. 

But he hesitated in deleting it. The message was very nearly complimentary. Holding on to it to show Sherlock what a not-entirely-insulting text message looked like might be wise, John thought. And as for reading the rest... Well, he had to check if there wasn't something urgent about a new case now, didn't he? 

_2/14: "As is that. That's new, I must continue to assess the"_

_3/14: "Apologies, hit send too soon. Though having you concentrate on glans is more pleasant sensation, enjoy seeing you take entire penis in mouth."_

Was this supposed to be arousing? 

Educational? 

Just a statement of fact? 

John frowned at the message. 

Really, was he supposed to be turned on? It was a little clinical for that. Sherlock sometimes said things like this during sex, too, like he learned everything he thought one needed to know about sex from an outdated textbook he'd found at a library-discard sale. 

John shifted in bed. Maybe Sherlock was just pointing out a fact, like he'd text anything else. 

It was still sort of arousing. 

_5/14: "You are very distracting. If you continue this I will"_

_6/14: "Annoying, I never hit send prematurely. Under circumstances, perhaps understandable. Where is your mobile?"_

_7/14: "Just recalled: in back pocket, remember feeling it in alley. You are disruptive to concentration."_

He wound up going through the three messages a bit more quickly. Nice to know it was possible to disrupt Sherlock's fine mastery of texting and deduction, even if it was only by getting him off. 

Nice, also, to remember Sherlock feeling him up in a dark alley when they were supposed to be pretending not to be watching that Honda. 

_8/14: "Hope Mrs. H doesn't find trousers again."_

'Not as if the stairs to my room aren't on your way out, Sherlock,' he thought of texting back, but it wasn't as if it'd make any difference. Expecting Sherlock to pick up anything besides his phone and the occasional tenth of a cadaver was just unrealistic. 

Besides, six messages left, and with any luck it'd be a bit more entertaining than sending a text on tidying up. 

_9/14: "Thinking of you finding these messages now. You know you skip right from one finger to three without reapplication of lube when annoyed with me?"_

Like this. This worked. This was good. If there was ever a reason for Sherlock to be on his phone during sex, as far as John was concerned right at this moment, this? This was definitely it.

_10/14: "Also, you apply greater pressure to the prostate when I appear distracted. And bite almost as if you mean it. Lucky still November, can cover up."_

_11/14: "You also spend a full 2 minutes less on fingering. While those minutes are always appreciated, also enjoy this."_

Thinking about Sherlock going about with bruises under his scarf... 

John slid his hand down. He was wearing only a pair of Sherlock's "forgotten" (he really supposed it was just part of the steady migration of non-case-related items from Sherlock's bedroom to what was becoming their bedroom) pyjama bottoms--the very nice ones, probably worth as much as John's best-and-only-suit, that hedonist--and stroking himself off, slow through the soft fabric, was something he just pretended Sherlock didn't know about. 

_12/14: "Can treat me more roughly, for the record. If texting while being sodomized only way to get hips bruised by you, will continue."_

Seriously, John thought. Sodomy? What is this, 1890? Still, though he'd known Sherlock was a bit on the kinky side--quite a bit on the kinky side, honestly, if only for the fact that he bored so easily and wanted to try most things at least once--it was difficult for John to be very rough with Sherlock. 

Apparently, save for when he was trying to get Sherlock's attention back from the ever-present phone.

_13/14: "Know this is physiologically possible but surprising nonetheless, John"_

_14/14: "As I know you: when you see my back, chest, and right thigh tomorrow morning, try not to have much misguided guilt. Tonight was incredible. Clearly need to make you believe I am distracted in future. You always have my attention. -SH"_

John grinned, setting the phone aside. The end of the message was as close to affectionate as he'd seen Sherlock. Sure, it was a post-coital text message sent while he was having come wiped off his chest, but John could work with it. 

He rolled to his side, pressing his face to where Sherlock had been laying--sheets still smelling of sweat and sex and a little of that last chemical mishap of Sherlock's--and started to jerk off more quickly, thinking of Sherlock with his bruised hips texting about anal sex in clinical detail and--

And the fucking phone chimed. 

He groaned. Pushing himself up and grabbing his mobile, he thought it figured. You got three quarters in to a decent morning and your boyfriend texts you to run out and shoot someone.

_New message, 1/15: "Have you checked messages yet? Home soon, don't waste any potential. -SH"_

He texted back and shut the phone. Sherlock's definition of "soon" was variable at best, and besides. He still had to clear his inbox. 

_Sent, 1/1: "Sure you will think of something physiologically possible but surprising nonetheless. -JW"_


End file.
